


in close

by demotu



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling, First Time, Frottage, Grinding, June smutfest, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Rookies, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demotu/pseuds/demotu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been undeniably <em>cuddling</em> for a couple of weeks, now, and Pat’s taken to tucking his face into the crook of Jonny’s neck while they talk, his lips catching on Jonny’s skin as they go over the last game or the upcoming competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fourfreedoms (dark_reaction)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fourfreedoms+%28dark_reaction%29).



> For the4freedom's June Smutfest prompt request "Kane/Toews, LONG PROTRACTED MAKEOUTS (preferably first time)", here is some very-deserved rookie makeouts for you.

~

Jonny knows how to time things by two months into the season, getting Pat’s jerk-off schedule memorized before Christmas break rolls around. At least, the regular morning and night-time sessions. Jonny’s usually asleep for the first one, except for the time he woke up with the fullest fucking bladder ever and had been halfway through pissing before he’d clued into the low, breathy noises coming out of the fogged-up shower next to him.

The night-time one is more important, especially knowing that Pat’s gonna take at least half an hour with it, because, well. Jonny’s gotta get off sometime too, and honestly? He fucking hates jerking it in the shower. Something about the water beating down distracts him too much to really enjoy it, and standing up is shit. He likes being able to start out on his stomach and work himself up against the bed, dick sliding against warm sheets, before rolling over and fucking up into his fist. It’d taken him a month to give it a try in their shared hotel room, but once Jonny was confident Pat wasn’t going to pop out early, he’d lined up his routine with Pat’s and let himself indulge.

Pat figures it out, Jonny thinks. At least, after the first few weeks of synchronous masturbation sessions, he starts coming out of the shower with a smirk for Jonny, like they’ve won something together instead of just had conveniently-timed orgasms. Maybe it should be weird, but Jonny likes it, for some reason. They’ve got each other’s back everywhere else, right now--somehow it just feels right for that to extend to their more intimate needs.

The rest of it, the really weird bit—that started a little later, after they’d come back from their too-short holiday visits with their families and were both, Jonny figures, feeling kind of lonely and overwhelmed. Jonny can’t really remember what he was thinking the first time he came back from taking a piss and throwing out the dirty tissues in the garbage to find Pat curled up in his bed. They were both drunk and tired, and it’d seemed like too much energy to ask what the fuck Pat was doing, so he’d just slid in beside him and not given it any thought when Pat had pressed their ankles together and fallen asleep.

Inexplicable ankle touching turned into arms pressing together turned into limbs slung over each other. It’s been undeniably _cuddling_ for a couple of weeks, now, and Pat’s taken to tucking his face into the crook of Jonny’s neck while they talk, his lips catching on Jonny’s skin as they go over the last game or the upcoming competition. If Jonny stops to think about it—he just can’t. There’s a block there that keeps him from looking at it too closely, and it’s easier, anyway, just to sink into the warmth of Pat’s touch without assuming there’s more to it than a bit of human contact. If Pat gets hard against Jonny’s hip, sometimes; if Jonny makes contented noises when Pat’s lips catch against a sensitive spot—that’s just a side-effect, not the point of the thing.

They’re curled in face-to-face, this time. Jonny’s right arm is stuck under Pat’s neck, and with his left hand he’s tracing circles on the small of Pat’s back. Pat’s curled in with his forehead on Jonny’s shoulder, one leg tucked between Jonny’s thighs as he absently trails his nails along Jonny’s chest and stomach. Jonny’s not ticklish at all, but the scrape of Pat’s nails sometimes makes him shiver, anyway.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Pat’s saying softly. “But it feels wrong just to bail, you know?”

“They like you a lot,” Jonny says, rubbing his thumb between Pat’s shoulder blades soothingly. “If they needed space, they’d say something. Stan doesn’t beat around the bush.”

Pat huffs a laugh, probably at the expression—he’s forever laughing at what Pat calls Jonny’s “old man phrases”. Jonny squeezes at the back of his neck and rolls away.

“Hey, what?” Pat says, lifting his head. There’s a little frown across his lips, and Jonny shakes his head quickly, tugging on Pat’s hip.

“S’cool, my shoulder just was hurting,” Jonny says.

“Oh, alright,” Pat says. He rolls over until he’s half on-top of Jonny instead, his thigh a heavy, comfortable weight across Jon’s. Pat puts his palm back on Jonny’s chest, fingers absently tracing a nipple while he noses his way into the curve of Jonny’s neck. Jonny pushes up Pat’s t-shirt to splay his fingers across the warm skin and firm muscle of Pat’s back.

“Do the kids know?”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Pat says, a soft hum against Jonny’s neck. “They wanted to wait until they know what the treatment’s gonna be.”

“Tough,” Jonny says, folding up the arm under Pat so he can tug at his hair sympathetically.

“Mmhmm,” Pat says.

He’s quiet for a couple minutes, hand stilling on Jonny’s skin. Jonny’s about decided he’s fallen asleep, right on top of Jonny like an asshole, when he feels Pat’s lips purse and catch at the skin of his neck. He shifts, just enough to let Pat know he felt it, and then lets himself relax back into the pillows as Pat keeps going, pressing small, dry kisses to Jonny’s neck.

“S’okay?” Pat mumbles after a minute, not lifting his head.

“Yeah,” Jonny breathes out. He traces the line of Pat’s spine, up until his shirt’s too much in the way, and then down to the waistband of his sweats. Pat twitches at the bottom of the stroke, hips pressing into Jonny’s, and then goes back to Jonny’s neck. It’s sweetly good, Pat’s lips sending little shivers of pleasure down Jonny’s spine, and he finds himself unable to think of all the reasons why he should stop it. He turns his face away from Pat, instead, exposing more neck for Pat to taste, now with little licks of tongue that tug tiny noises out of Jonny’s throat.

When Pat’s tongue catches at Jonny’s earlobe, the noise Jonny makes is sharper, deeper in his chest, too. Pat makes an echoing hum in his ear. He’s holding himself away, a little, and that just won’t do—Jonny wants him close, wants his warmth and weight against his body, so he pulls Pat in with the hand on his back. The line of Pat’s dick is pressing into Jonny’s hip again, firmer and thicker than it was before, but it feels less important than the stretch of Pat against Jonny’s side.

Pat works his way back down from Jonny’s ear, flat licks of his tongue now, no holding back. He dips his nose into the hollow of Jonny’s throat and presses his mouth to Jonny’s collarbone. “Mmm,” Jonny says, sliding his hand from Pat’s back to curve over his ass, feeling the soft, worn cotton of his sweats and the firm muscle, flexing minutely underneath. Pat rests his arm along Jonny’s sternum and presses his fingers into Jonny’s chin.

“Turn, Tazer,” Pat says quietly. Jonny does, and Pat ducks his head back down to keep kissing Jonny’s neck, up as far as he can stretch along the far side. Jonny wants him to keep going, to touch his ear with his tongue, maybe dip inside it or slide back along his hairline where Jonny knows his skin is so, so sensitive.

“C’mere,” he says hoarsely. He’s dizzy with an arousal that’s gentler than what he’s used to, something slow and comfortable. And for all that Jonny’s still nineteen, he’s never been quick to get it up again after getting off. Still, he’s already halfway there from Pat’s mouth on his neck. He tries to spread his legs under Pat and pulls again on his hip. Pat lifts his head and blinks down at him, pupils huge in the dim light of their hotel room.

“Hm?” Pat says, tilting his head to put his mouth back on Jonny.

“On top,” Jonny says, cheeks going hot. “You can reach better.”

Pat’s perfect lips curve up into a smile—it’s not teasing, and Jonny’s glad of that, because if it were he’d have to stop this. Instead, it’s as pleased and as warm as Jonny feels in his gut. Pat pushes up to his knees and tucks himself between Jonny’s, leaning over him with his weight on one hand beside Jonny’s shoulder. When he curls back in, Pat licks a hot, wet stripe from the point of Jonny’s collarbone to the jut of his jaw, and Jonny groans quietly.

“Yeah, like that,” he breathes out. He’s hard, now, or most of the way there at least, and he reaches down to tuck his dick more comfortably up under the waistband of his boxers before gripping at Pat’s hips. Pat nudges his head over to the side to lick at his ear, and Jonny shudders, eyes blinking heavily. Pat’s hovering over him, and that’s—it’s too much space, so Jonny tucks his fingers under the waistband of Pat’s sweats and tugs him down.

“Huh,” Pat huffs, lips breaking contact with Jonny’s ear when their dicks push together, tucking alongside each other in the hollow of their hips. “Is this—”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, turning until his lips catch Pat’s, just the lightest brush of tender skin. The sound Pat makes, low in his throat, is echoed in Jonny. Jonny blinks up at Pat and runs a hand from the curve of his ass up to the base of his neck, curling his fingers in until he can pull Pat down the half-inch to do it again. Pat’s lips are smooth and a little wet with spit, catching on Jonny’s dry mouth. He licks out to wet them as Pat sways down again, and his tongue catches the plush arc of Pat’s lower lip.

Pat makes a noise in his throat, so low and thick with need that Jonny has to shut his eyes against the curl of pleasure in his spine. He thrusts up, his boxers sliding down so that the head of his dick is pressed between their bare stomachs. This time, when Pat’s lips touch his, Jonny tilts his head and holds Pat in place with the hand at the back of his neck and licks in. The tip of Pat’s tongue slides over Jonny’s, and Jonny groans outright. His pulse is thudding under his skin as Pat traces his lips with his tongue and then slips inside, soft and exploring licks like the ones he’d covered Jonny’s neck with before.

When Jonny slides his hand underneath Pat’s sweats to cup an asscheek, Pat makes a crushed sound, dick jerking against Jonny’s. He’s braced up, still, on one arm, and his shoulder shakes like it’s going to give out. Jonny flicks his tongue across Pat’s and pulls his mouth away, the slick smacking sound as they disconnect sending another pulse of arousal through him. “Relax,” Jonny says lowly, pulling at the back of Pat’s neck until Pat gives in with a groan and lets himself fall into Jonny’s chest, face tucked back into Jonny’s shoulder, back where they started. His mouth is eager, now, lips tight on Jonny’s skin as he sucks his mark.

Pat breaks off with a muffled “fuuh,” when Jonny lets his fingers drift to the crack of Pat’s ass, dipping in, just at the top where it’s nothing but another touch between them. Jonny turns to lick at Pat’s ear, tracing the shell and then sucking in the soft, thick earlobe. He scrapes over it with his teeth. Pat makes a harsh, desperate sound. Jonny lets out a low moan.

“C’mon, come on, Pat,” Jonny says quietly as Pat starts thrusting down, hips working erratically against Jonny’s. He stops, almost as soon as he’s begun, and makes a frustrated sound, shifting up. Before Jonny can protest, Pat’s wormed a hand between them to hook the waistband of his sweats down under his balls. Fuck, that’s—more skin and more warmth and Jonny wants to _feel_ it, feel all of Pat sliding and pressing and shivering against him. He tries to work his own boxers down, one-handed and unwilling to give up his grasp on Pat’s ass. Pat laughs, forehead tucked to Jonny’s shoulder, and helps Jonny get his boxers down over his hips, enough that when Pat presses back in, they’re bare cock to bare cock.

“Oh, that’s—” Jonny says, turning back to press as kiss to Pat’s ear. “Oh, oh,” he says weakly, knees coming up to bracket Pat’s hips so he can work against Pat’s steady, firm grind.

Pat pushes back up on his elbows, his nose sliding along the hollow of Jonny’s cheek. He bites at Jonny’s chin, then catches the wet curve of Jonny’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs. Jonny opens his eyes to meet Pat’s, wide and glazed and grey in the low light. Pat pauses, mouth dragging across the corner of Jonny’s as he lifts his hips until just the heavy, thick head of his dick is touching Jonny’s. It shouldn’t feel so electric, but Jonny’s toes curl into the mattress as Pat’s cockhead catches on his foreskin, wet with precome.

When Pat presses down again, firm and steady, Jonny’s fingers clench tight to the meat of his ass, pulling him tight in a sticky-good grind. Pat shudders at the release of Jonny’s fingers, and Jonny does it again, catches a handful of Pat’s flesh and digs his nails in on the upstroke of Pat’s thrust.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Pat’s chanting now, breathy acknowledgement of every slide of their cocks, caught tight between their stomachs. When Jonny shifts his grip to work his fingers in between the clench of Pat’s cheeks, Pat’s voice cracks. Pat stiffens, the muscles of his ass tightening and his chin tucking firmly into Jonny’s shoulder. He’s quiet as he slicks up Jonny’s stomach, a pool of come that rubs between them as Jonny keeps working up against Pat. It’s inexorable and endless and he’s so lost in it that his own orgasm catches him off-guard and leaves him biting down on the thick cords of muscle along Pat’s neck.

Pat stays in the cradle of Jonny’s body for a long while, afterwards. Jonny lets go of where he’s holding Pat’s ass so tightly, and instead goes back to tracing delicate patterns over the lines of Pat’s back, feeling little tremors go through him as Pat comes down from it. They’re sticking together, and Jonny’s dick is uncomfortably spent, but even when the weight and heat of Pat’s body is enough that he has to urge him off, he can’t bring himself to do more than lean over and snag the box of tissues from the bedside table, pulling out a few and then curling back in to wipe first himself and then Pat clean.

Pat’s eyes are shut while he does it, one leg thrown over Jonny’s where it’s cocked up between them, his hand resting heavily on Jonny’s naked hip. When Jonny leans back up to put the tissue box back and grab the glass of water to wet his mouth, Pat’s eyes slit open. Jonny’s heart clenches, a rush of nervousness welling up in the cool air between them, but Pat just lifts a hand and tugs the glass out of his hand, tilting it precariously to sip at it, and then pushes it back at Jonny.

“Lazy,” Jonny says, less chiding than he means it to sound.

“Sleepy,” Pat argues, voice thick. Jonny puts the glass back and hesitates, hovering on one elbow over Pat. Pat frowns at him. “What?”

“Uh, are you—you wanna sleep?” Jonny asks, feeling awkward. _Here_ , he means, but he doesn’t know if he should ask Pat to stay or confirm he was going to, already.

“I sure as fuck don’t want to try for three,” Pat says, cheek dimpling up with a flash of a grin.

Jonny laughs, startled. “Fair enough,” he says, lying back down and tucking his arm in between them. He slides his hand under Pat’s shoulder.

“What was that?” he asks in a whisper, fingers curling into Pat’s t-shirt.

“Good,” Pat says in a sleepy sigh. “It was good.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, shutting his eyes. “It was.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> I've a [tumblr](http://demotu.tumblr.com) of this sort of nonsense.


End file.
